


down the road a ways

by jdphoenix



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: F/M, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4759172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s got one of those faces, you know? Could be sixteen, could be twenty-one, could be anywhere in between. So he’s not really sure just how screwed he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	down the road a ways

She’s out cold before they make it five miles. Not a big surprise. Girl got kidnapped today (yesterday. Jeez, is this ever gonna end?) and that was the _least_ traumatic thing that happened to her. Hell, Seth’d like to take a cat nap himself. He was up before dawn, skin buzzing, ready for the job. Now all that’s left is this bone-deep weariness all over and he might just crash ‘em into a cactus if he doesn’t find a place to pull over soon.

But that fear of god paranoia he thought he left behind during the floor show is still there, curled at the back of his brain like a- well, he knows exactly what it’s curled up like but he ain’t thinking it. And he ain’t pulling over either. Not until they’re far enough away that he can’t feel the watch fire outside the Titty Twister heating the back of his neck anymore. So they might just drive into the ocean, he’s thinking.

He’s got them headed south (he should be taking her north, drop her at the border and let the feds sort it all out) and the sun’s on his shoulder. She whines, makes sad little puppy noises, and inches closer to him (to his side, to the shadow his body makes) to avoid the light.

He stops them the first time he blinks and doesn’t recognize the back of the semi in front of them. If it was just him, he might keep going, might figure running himself off the road would be a nice way to stop the nightmare visions lingering behind his eyelids, but it’s not just him and he heard enough before his little labyrinth adventure to know a car crash - or a near one - is the last thing she needs to top off her day. So he pulls into the first motel he sees with English signs because he only knows like five words of Spanish and the only ones that come to mind right now are _qué_ and _burrito_.

The guy behind the counter has white hair and skin like old leather, but he smiles when the bell above the door rings. “ _Bienvenidos!_ Can I help you?”

Seth almost falls to his knees with relief. Something’s finally going his way. “Yes, yes. I need a room. _We_ need a room.” Richie may be gone but he’s still part of a duo. And, not that he’d feel bad about it or nothing, but it’s got an ironic kind of poetry to it since he’ll be paying for this with old man Fuller’s credit card.

“On your honeymoon?” the old man asks and the card slips from Seth’s fingers. Old man doesn’t notice, he’s too busy looking out the window, still smiling that same smile. Seth thinks of her sleeping out there in the car, but it’s not bright and sunshiny, it’s dark and dusty and she’s on a fucking altar like some goat and this bastard is smiling like that horny professor.

The old man’s eyes slide back to his - open, warm - and it’s only years of carefully honed instinct that paste a proud groom smile on Seth’s face without him having to think about it.

“Yeah, yeah, we are. Two beds though, the missus isn’t feeling too well.”

Old man nods like that makes any fucking sense at all. There’s small talk and chit chat and all the shit that should be so damn easy, but Seth is _tired_ and his nerves aren’t just frayed, they are raw and bleeding and possibly so is his neck still. Feels like it anyway. So he gets out of there fast as he can and pulls the car around closer to their room.

He doesn’t think about it - because thinking requires energy and that’s something he doesn’t have much of anymore - he just picks her up all bridal style and carries her inside. She doesn’t wake up, not even when he sets her on the bed farthest from the door.

And then he just drops to the other one. Shoes still on, one foot dangling over the side. He stares up at the popcorn ceiling just like a million other ceilings in a million other hotels and resolves to sleep until the clock does a full round - or even a full day, he’s that damn tired.

Only the trouble with that fear coiled like a thing in the back of his brain? It’s not gonna let him. He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and sees that bank teller laid out on his last borrowed bed. And when he lets up the pressure, he sees that bitch with the fangs and the wings and Richie standing next to her with their nightmare faces on, smiling like they’re the fucking king and queen of the Titty Twister.

(He can still hear screaming in the quiet.)

He opens his eyes and looks at the only thing in the room that isn’t dull and boring. He knew she was small, but he was dead on his feet and it wasn’t even any trouble to carry her in here. And she’s got shit sense. What’s he doing bringing her along? She didn’t wake up, didn’t even try to roll away. Rolled _into_ him, even.

(He can still feel her hand where it landed on his chest.)

He’s in trouble here. Serious trouble. God, he should’ve gone for the border.

The girl’s (and yeah, she’s a girl. Not a woman. Not a con. A girl who was vacationing with daddy and little brother. So the _girl’s_ ) still got blood on her face. It makes him think of Richie and that fucking dog out in the desert.

He should’ve listened to Vanessa.

He doesn’t know how - probably he passes out for a stretch and just doesn’t notice - but somehow he ends up sitting on the floor with a damp towel, wiping at her face. It’s baby smooth and scrunches up all annoyed when the cold cloth touches it. But she still doesn’t move.

She’s got one of those faces, you know? Could be sixteen, could be twenty-one, could be anywhere in between. So he’s not really sure just how screwed he is. Robbing the cradle, definitely (which he always should’ve known was coming - not that it’s come at all, this is just about outsider perspective now - because he’s always been a fan of any kind of robbery), but he’s not exactly Woody Allen here.

And as if everything else wasn’t enough, she’s still wearing that cross. He kidnapped a nice, God-fearing family, dragged them to hell (or hell-adjacent, close enough), and then ran off with the _preacher’s daughter_.

He presses his hands to his eyes again. This time he sees Dad, the flames clinging to him because his innocent baby brother was a junior psycho in training all along.

He shoulda known.

He reaches for her hairline. There’s still blood all dried up in the strands and he doesn’t wanna hear her crying in the bathroom while she tries to wash it out later.

“Oh. My God,” she says. Her eyes aren’t even open and he hasn’t touched her yet. “I swear, if you do not go to sleep already I will _murder you_.”

His mouth curls up on one side. It’s a hell of a threat coming from little miss perfect. “Will you now?”

One of her eyes cracks open. “Yes,” she says, and really sounds like she means it.

He holds up his hands in surrender and climbs (more like crawls) back onto his bed. This time he even manages to kick his shoes off.

Popcorn ceiling’s still right where he left it. Sun’s shining through the curtains. If he pretends real hard, he might even believe for half a second that it was all a dream.

“Hey, Kate?” he asks.

He can hear her move on the mattress - onto her stomach, he realizes when her groan is muffled by a pillow.

“What?” she asks. Or he thinks she does. Can’t really tell with the muffling and all.

“How old are you?”

She’s quiet for a long time, so long he thinks she might’ve fallen asleep. He looks over to make sure she’s not gonna choke on pillow stuffing, and she’s looking straight at him.

“I needed a ride.”

“Right,” he says, even though there were dozens of abandoned cars all over that lot.

“That’s all.”

“Right.”

She rolls over, putting her back to him.

“So…”

“Oh my God, I’m seventeen!”

“Right.” Good. It’s good. A nice, solid legal barrier - and one of those ones he actually cares about too. Now that he knows it’s there, he’ll sleep easier.

The snake of fear in the back of his mind ensures he doesn’t, but at least he sleeps.


End file.
